I stand before my mirror, all trim and tucked in harness, as Higgins smooths the jacket over my back and gives it a final tug and brush.
"How old are you, Miss?" he asks, and the question takes me by surprise.
"Why ... fifteen, I think ... Maybe closing in on sixteen. Why do you ask?"
"Nothing, Miss. Just be careful."
I tell him not to wait up for me, but I know he will.
I approach the Blow Hole Tavern on the arm of my First Mate John Reilly, and I look up at the sign that swings overhead. It pictures a whale like none I ever saw on my whaling cruise and probably like none that ever swam the ocean, blowing a great spout of water out the top of his head while mermaids cavort about. Liam said this was the place we should go to, and I hear the men from the Emerald inside already working up to a fine pitch of gaiety.
We enter and the old familiar smell of spilt ale and beer and dark rum soaked up in sawdust and into the very timbers of the place hits my nose like the greeting of an old friend I ain't seen for a while. There's a cheer when I'm seen by all, and I look about for the landlord or -lady. There she is, her brow knit together, thinking about whether or not to toss me right back on out for being a brazen hussy.
I pull out my purse and call out, "A drink for every man and woman in the house, compliments of the Emerald, the finest privateer ever to sail the ocean sea!"
That gets another great cheer and soothes the landlady's mind, for she beams and starts drawing pints.
I go to the biggest table of all and am seated next to Padraic, which is as it should be, as we are the ones of a common age. John Reilly sits to my left, which is as it should be, too, as we are similar in rank. I know this is Padraic's first time out in a place such as this without being under his father's watchful eye and he is flushed with pleasure. Liam had agreed to have Padraic put in the other section from his, thinking it was, as he said, time to loosen the leash on the boy. I look carefully at Padraic and say to myself, Careful, me lad, but he seems to be handling himself all right. He sips at his pint without slamming it down as young men are wont to do their first time out.
"A glass of rum with you, Miss Faber," says young Arthur McBride from across the table. Now there's one who ain't being careful at all. I sense John Reilly tensing up as Arthur ain't supposed to be quite so familiar with me, but I put my hand on my First Mate's arm to quell his urge to put the youthful sailor in his place.
"Nay, Mr. McBride," I say. "I have taken a vow never to taste strong spirits again. But I will take a glass of wine with you." A glass is poured for me and I hold it up to him and take a sip and then I look away from him. That's the way it is done, according to the Lawson Peabody School for Young Girls.
"No strong spirits, Miss? It seems a mighty stern vow," says John Reilly.
"Aye, John," I say. "But I took spirits one time to great excess and not only did I disgrace myself but also I lost the love of my dearest friend. It was then that I took the vow on the brow of one fine soul named Millie."
"Did you take the vow in the name of some saint, like Saint Bridget or Saint Brendan, then?" says Arthur McBride, who is plainly not going to be kept out of the conversation.
"No, I took it in the name of Saint Millie, a dog, actually, but one who saved my life at risk of her own, and whenever I am tempted to let rum or whisky slip twixt my lips, I think of her loving and trusting and loyal countenance and I cannot do it."
"Well said," says John Reilly, and there are murmurs of agreement all around. These Irish lads, they do love their saints, but they do love their dogs, too.
Well, enough of being good, I think, and look out across the table.
A great platter of cold raw oysters is laid out in front of me. I reach out and take one and lift the shell and tip it toward my mouth and Padraic, who sits next to me, must look away. Padraic, poor farm boy from the interior who has never even seen an oyster let alone eaten one, must look away as I tip the shell and drop the gray glob into my open mouth. The devil is in me, I can feel it now for sure, and I pull his shoulder around to make him look at me as I open my lips and tongue the oyster and then swallow it and say, Ahhhh ... surely you'll join me in some, Padraic.
There are slices of lemon there and I grab a wedge and squeeze the juice of it on top of a few of the oysters and they are so fresh, I swear I see them jerk as the juice hits them. I send several more to their graves at the bottom of my gut and then I look about with great satisfaction. I've found that a good deal of the pleasure in eating oysters is in watching the disgust on the faces of people who do not enjoy them, as you hoist them up and slide them down your neck.
More platters are brought and I turn to the offerings they bear—smoked salmon, grilled perch, and, oh yes, Padraic, you must try these, the baby octopus from Spain ... see the little tentacles there? They are quite chewy and good. I take one up and wiggle it at him. Wait, now you. Stop teasing him, as he is a fine boy and just off the farm. What can he know of these exotic things? Here, a bit of trout with you then, my bold and noble sailor, and I pick up a piece and push it to his lips and he lets it in.
"A song please, Jacky!" says some bloke who's forgot his place. They've seen and heard me play my fiddle and whistle on board ship, but I have never yet sung, nor have I danced, for the sake of discipline. Now, though, I stand at my place and toss back my head and sing out:
"Come cheer up, me lads, and banish all fear
For on our ship the Em-er-ald
'Tis to Glory that we steer!
To Honor She calls you, as free men not slaves,
For none are so free
As the Sons of the Waves!"
I messed a bit here and there with the lyrics to "Hearts of Oak," but they get it and come roaring back with the chorus, roaring fit to shake the windows:
"Heart of Oak is our Ship!
Hearts of Oak are our Men!
We are always ready—STEADY, BOYS, STEADY!
We will fight and we'll conquer and do it all again
Singing the Emerald's song of Freeeeeeeeedom!"
They messed with some lyrics there themselves, and they really came down hard with their mugs on the tabletops with STEADY, BOYS, STEADY! but I guess it goes with the song. I pop back up with:
"Come all you quick young Irish Lads,
Who soon will come home,
With presents in your pockets and money to your names.
The girls will bob and coo and blink their eyes at you,
For who's the bravest of them all
But the Emerald's gallant crew!"
That nails them down for sure and they go and hammer out the chorus, and then Arthur McBride stands up, a bit unsteadily, and holds up his hand and, when all is quiet, sings out in a clear tenor:
"Now Gracie was a wild one,
Anne Bonny was the same,
But our Jacky of the Emerald
Puts both of them to shame!"
Well! The boyo's got a bit of the Irish poet in him, I see. There's more cheers and they finish up with another turn of the chorus and I stand and raise my glass, "To Arthur McBride, the Emerald's very own Celtic Bard!"
More toasts are lifted and drunk and then someone bellows out, "Give us another song, Jacky!" "Yes, a song!" says another and there are claps all around, so I put down my glass and pull my pennywhistle from my sleeve and place it on my lips. What to play for these Irish lads? Ah, what could be more Irish than this? I play the melody through once and a sailor cries, "Why, 'tis 'Whisky in the Jar'!"
And indeed it is. I put down the whistle and lift my head and sing out the first verse.
"As I was a-going over Killgarrah Mountain,
I spied Colonel Farrell and his money he was countin'
Quick I drew me pistols and I rattled forth me saber,
Sayin' Stand and Deliver! For I am your bold deceiver!"
As I'm singing this, I come around the table and stand in front of Arthur McBride and I come down hard on "Stand and Deliver!" and extend my hand that holds my whistle and I point it at his breastbone as if it were a sword. He plays his part by broadly pantomiming shock and anger. Then I do the chorus:
"Musha ringum duram da,
Whack! for the laddie-o,
Whack! for the laddie-o,
There's whisky in the jar!"
Now I leave the newly robbed Mr. McBride and skip around the table to stand behind Padraic. I put my hands on his shoulders and sing out:
"He counted out his money and it made a pretty penny,
I took the money home and I gave it to my Jenny,
She sighed and she swore that she never would betray me
But the Devil's in the women and they never will be easy!"
And when singing the last line I put on my most evil opened-mouth smile and run my fingers slowly up each side of Padraic's smooth young face. Whoops from the crowd and I lean over to see that the lad's face is as red as his hair.
I belt out the chorus again and this time the crowd joins in, bringing their tankards down hard on the tabletops with each Whack! And, with each Whack! the landlady is beginning to look a little more worried. More verses, two in a row and skip the chorus, I'm thinking...
"The next mornin' early as I rose to travel,
Up stepped a band of footmen and likewise Colonel Farrell,
I flew to my pistols, but, alas, I was mistaken,
For my Jenny'd wet the powder and a prisoner I was taken!
"They put me in the jail with a Judge all a-writin',
For robbing Colonel Farrell up on Killgarrah Mountain,
But they didn't take me fists, so I knocked the jailer down,
And bid a farewell to this tight-fisted town!"
I lifted up my puny fists in front of my face like a prizefighter on this one, got a laugh, and went to the chorus again, and then motioned for silence so I could sing the last verse at a much slower, more dreamy tempo, and when all are quiet and waiting, I slip myself into Padraic's lap and put my arms around his neck and sing, all whispery and low...
"Some take delight in the fishing and the bowling,
Others take delight in the carriages a-rolling,
But I take delight in the juice of the barley,
And courting pretty boys in the morning so early!"
With that I plant a kiss on Padraic's blushing cheek and then pop back up, fist in the air, and we roar out the final chorus...
"Musha ringum duram da,
WHACK! for the laddie-o,
WHACK! for the laddie-o,
There's whisky in the jar!"
And this time the windows shake and threaten to shatter with the raw power of our voices raised together in song and good fellowship. Through the cheers and hoorays and applause I go to the center of the room and call out, "Now give me room as I means to dance!"
Chapter 30
"Would you like a cold compress for your forehead, Miss?" says Higgins the next morning. I crack open an eyelid and I think I catch a note of primness in his voice.
"Whatever gave you that idea? I've never had a headache in my life, 'cept once, and I didn't drink any spirits last night," I say, turning over and groaning. "But put it on anyway." I lie back on my pillow and I must admit the cool, wet cloth feels good.
"I didn't do anything wrong. We ate, we drank, we sang, we danced. And we all got back here by midnight. What's the matter with that?"
"You got back here before midnight because you were all thrown out at eleven thirty."